


Stand By Me

by heartsblade



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Exalt Chrom, M/M, hi i'm riel and i suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsblade/pseuds/heartsblade
Summary: “Stand by me.”“Always.”These words were spoken like vows between them, forged as strong as steel, a steel never meant to be broken by anything in the world. Words between kings meant to be honoured, a solemn promise to stand by each other even in death.





	Stand By Me

**Author's Note:**

> i don't like myself very much

“Stand by me.”

“Always.”

These words were spoken like vows between them, forged as strong as steel, a steel never meant to be broken by anything in the world. Words between kings meant to be honoured, a solemn promise to stand by each other even in death.

The first time they were uttered, they were in the prelude of battle, the calm before the storm. A tempest gathered above them, the land dark with it, rain whipped and sharp as daggers in descent. Their capes blew in the wind as they overlooked their battlefield, sweeping over it one final time before they met gazes.

“Stand by me,” Ike says in that resolute way of his, his words neither a question nor a statement, his tone the spectre of a plea. Chrom takes his hand and squeezes it tight. 

“Always.” He swears, his face sharp with his determination. They nod and fall into formation shortly thereafter, the words a lingering afterthought that drove them forward into the thick of their enemies, sword in hand, cutting down their foes to victory. They knew it was near, the taste of it on their tongue, and they were men starved for liberation, chasing the bittersweet aftertaste of it.

The storm passes, the skies now simply overcast, the rain washing away the blood from their hands, their faces, their blades almost clean by now.

The second time is when they’re celebrating their victorious siege of a castle on the border of Ylisse, home to mages mad with power, brigands burning villages to the ground for a few gold pieces. It was enough to send their rulers in a fury, their anger over the deaths of innocents the driving force to ending their plight once and for all. The former owners of the castle returned and invited their saviors to a celebration, one Chrom simply felt was necessary to accept, if only for the morale of their troops. Ike shakes his head at that, but finds himself adorning his finest garments and tagging along regardless of his feelings on the matter. It’s been awhile since they allowed themselves the luxury of a party anyway.

“Stand by me,” Chrom demands, his face flush with drink, arms wrapping around Ike in an embrace. “You look so alone standing there, my love. Join me in arm and let us have a drink together.”

“You want to show people our height difference again?” He asks, lofting a brow ever so slightly at Chrom’s odd request. The other laughs heartily, throwing his head back, the apple of his throat on display, teasing Ike to press his lips there. 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing!”

“Everyone knows I’m the tallest here.”

“You and Frederick both! Beasts, the lot of you!” Chrom laughs once more, the sound filling Ike like a silk balloon, fit to burst with elation at seeing his beloved so light of spirit. He presses a quick kiss to his forehead, his arm coming up to support him when he starts to sway.

“So, who’re we trying to impress?” He huffs a laugh at Chrom’s renewed vigor, the way he grabs at Ike’s wrist and immediately sets off with him in tow. 

The night is young, the moon high and full, slivers of it falling through the windows they pass. Eventually, the party ebbs away into a gathering of a few, the others retreating to their tents. They waited and waited for their kings until they could no longer, and it was up to Frederick to scour the halls for them. It wasn’t until he reached the courtyard did he find his lords, flushed and indecent, their bodies mingled together on a bench, Chrom straddling his husband with their lips slotted together, hands tangled in each other’s hair.

The third time it’s spoken between them, they’re in the thick of planning a strategy for their next battle. They gathered around Robin like moths to a light. Weeks have passed since their last battle, the time between now and then left to petty criminals and lesser battles that required fewer men.

None of them expected something like this.

“I’ve tried everything I could to slim our chances of loss, Chrom.” Robin sighs, his head falling into his hands. “I don’t know… I don’t think this is a fight we can win. We’re sorely outmatched.”

“We always are, and always have been. Don’t doubt yourself now, Robin. You’ve kept us alive this long, I have no doubts of you doing it again.”

Robin turns to speak, only to be interrupted by the tent flap opening harshly. Frederick stands before the three of them, his eyes and mouth grim, his hands folded neatly behind himself.

“Anything to report, Frederick?”

“Indeed, milord. I’m afraid the news is anything but good; Gaius and Lon’qu have reported the enemy to have grown in numbers since the last report.”

“What?!” 

All heads turn to Chrom, his composure falling away completely to reveal what everyone desperately attempted to keep hidden away. They tucked their fear away in their garments and never acknowledged it, though the look on their lord’s face, the panic there, the way he paled; they all felt their stomachs sink to the ground. They were exposed, now, their fears brought to light. Ike looks more agitated than he does afraid.

“You’re absolutely sure?” He finally asks, breaking the tense silence that fell over them like a curtain.

“I’m afraid so, milord.”

“Damn them…” he hisses, his fist hitting the space next to Robin’s strategy book. “They’ll take the castle at this rate.”

“We’ve set to evacuating as many as possible…” Frederick says, and looks as if he were to say more, when the flap is thrown open once again. He steps aside to allow Lucina through.

“Father, if I may…”

“Of course, Lucina.”

“Father, I… I’m afraid we’ve not much time here. We must go.” Her gaze flickers between the men in the tent, her face as calm and collected as one can be in times of adversity and uncertainty.

“Right.” Robin’s voice gathers their attention at once. “We’ll stick with what we have for now. Chrom?”

“Right,” he echoes, sharing an uncertain look with his husband. He sees resolution in those eyes, the very eyes that held a sharpness he knew belonged to a man dedicating himself to a future uncertain. “Move out.” He turns and opens the tent flap for the others to move through; he nods in passing to his daughter, his friend, and his protector, who looked to him for strength and empowerment as they went.

“Chrom?”

He casts a glance over his shoulder to his counterpart stepping forward with a hand poised to fall on his shoulder; it does when he speaks. “Stand by me. Side by side… I know we can do this, just as we always have.”

“Always.”

Something about that exchange wrenched his heart and formed lead in his stomach.

* * *

“Stand by me.”

“Always.”

These words are spoken like vows between them, forged as strong as steel, a steel never meant to be broken by anything in the world. Words between kings meant to be honoured, a solemn promise to stand by each other even in death. The sky darkens and the rain and the wind take their turns biting at their exposed flesh, though their resolution stands and remains as tall as ever, and they share one last hand squeeze before they tear off into battle.

Swords clash, bodies fall, blood splatters-- these are all the things that Chrom is used to, that had the misfortune of growing accustomed to. All that mattered to him now, especially now, is that none of the bodies that fell belonged to any of his men. What bothered him, what nagged at him, what he wasn't used to, even now as he drives his sword through body after body and soars through the air with a magnificent flourish of Falchion, is that he lost sight of Ike. Never before did it bother him quite as much as it did now, and his stomach remained unsettled and disgruntled until the last imperial soldier fell to his blade.

Cheers erupt all around him, loud and victorious, and despite their victory, Chrom felt anything but relief. He felt vaguely panicked, whipping around in circles with his gaze cast all about him to seek out the one person who failed to stand out among the crowd. Always, without fail, Ike found his way to him, to grab his hand and embrace him and praise him for another battle well fought, another victory won, another success without loss.

He wasn’t there this time.

“Where is he?” He asks aloud, his voice ringing loud and true across the bloodied field. The sounds of their merriment fade to quiet murmurs, and Frederick mounts his horse instantly with Stahl and Sully at his side to look for _him._ “Where is he?” He asks again, this time with the panic he attempted to suppress prominent in his tone. “Has anyone seen Ike?”

The Shepherds immediately disband to scour the field for their liege, each one with a sombre, stone-cold expression that only worsened the sinking feeling that overcame Chrom like a wave. He makes his way to the area where the clerics began to tend to the wounded and saw nothing there that would make this uneasiness go away. He passes the bodies and looks over them carefully, slowly, hoping he wouldn’t see a flash of blue or green among the dead, and hoping he would at the same time for the sake of closure.

Lucina and Robin make their way to him, and he meets them halfway with a grim expression. “Any luck?” He inquires, looking between them with as much composure as he could possibly muster given the circumstances. Robin shakes his head, and Lucina sighs, and that’s all the answer Chrom needed from either of them.

“They’re back,” Robin announces shortly thereafter, and the three of them turn hastily to watch their friends close the distance on horseback. 

_Gods, please…_ Chrom pleads, swallowing thickly over the lump forming in his throat when he sees the looks among his friends faces, the way their eyes sit low, the way their mouths are set in that firm line that bode no good.

The closer Frederick got, the more Chrom felt sick. Ike wasn’t with him, nor was he with Sully or Stahl, and something about their expressions-- he felt weak, like his knees were made of salve. When Frederick dismounts, and Stahl and Sully avert their gazes, Chrom knows something is terribly, terribly wrong, that whatever Frederick had to report would be just as terrible and he felt like some invisible force was closing its hand around his throat.

“Milord.” Frederick begins, and he hesitates. He wets his lips and goes to speak once more, though before he could get a word out, Chrom interrupts him with a raised hand.

“Where?” The exalt demands, his voice low and nigh unstable with emotion.

The world stops turning. The trees hold their breath. Frederick sighs and lowers himself to one knee, and with his right hand, he extends a blood splattered emblem bearing the symbol of the royal family to him, the very emblem he gave to Ike upon their marriage, the very emblem he used to pin his cape to his shoulder. The emblem that tied him to the royal family forever.

What was supposed to be forever, anyway.

"To the North, sire. In the wood. His... He will be retrieved with haste."

Something hard and heavy unfurled itself in Chrom’s chest alike a flower; it blossomed where his heart should be, spreading itself wide and wider, still. It was something he couldn’t claw out of his chest, the tendrils of something eldritch snaking its way around his heart and throat and squeezing tight.

For the first time in all his life, Chrom wanted to burn everything that stood in his way of finding the man responsible for this incurable ailment. He knew just as well as any that whoever'd been responsible already fell to his blade or another's, though it did nothing to change how he felt.

He wanted to burn villages down with his rage, he wanted to tear houses down to the foundation and pick apart every man he fell in with to lay all their dirty shameful secrets out for all to see.

Perhaps the scariest thing of all is that Chrom could see himself doing it.

He would never hurt innocent souls. The desire faded as fast as it came upon him.

Lucina could see the emotions play across his features, despite how cold and emotionless he appeared. His hands trembled at his sides, the only indication that he was feeling something to begin with. He swallows uneasily and looks around him, at his Shepherds, and felt a tinge at ease knowing they all made it alive and well, as well as one can be in times of war. He sees the clerics tending to the wounded once more and feels something thick and heavy form in his throat when he doesn’t see _him_ among the masses. Again.

“Oh, Chrom…” He turns to see a grief stricken Robin, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, his hands coming to rest on his arm. Chrom looks at him numbly, and does nothing to remove the hand on his arm. He doesn’t do anything to take the emblem from Frederick’s hand, either.

“Return to camp,” he announces suddenly, his voice firm and loud, the people gathered around him in a state of shock, still, even as he spoke. “And prepare to march on the morrow.”

Normally he followed up with something inspiring, invigorating; he made his way through the crowd with a solemn expression, the look of a man with nothing further to say, the aura of a man with nothing more to give. At some point, Robin had let go, and he briefly wonders if he’ll be followed, or if Frederick’s still kneeling there now, perhaps now holding off the others calling out to him. He picks up his pace, moving from a walk to a slightly faster one, until everything began to feel loud and close and he progressed into a sprint, the air thin and everything felt that it was pressing down on him. A shuddering breath is released when he reaches his tent, his chest nigh heaving, his eyes burning with tears he refused to shed.

It’s not until the flap closed behind him that Chrom felt everything crash down on him, wave after wave, battering him senselessly against the rocks until the air is knocked out of his lungs and he’s drowning in his closeted sorrow. He falls to his knees, his body shaking, falling apart at the seams, his hands clutching at his skull. His chest heaves with the sobs he refused to let go of, until finally he exhales in that horribly shaky way a man decimated by his grief is warranted to, and inhales as if he were deprived of air.

The feeling in his chest never went away.

He thought it mocked him, truthfully. It sat there, now a permanent part of him, almost as if to replace the one who filled his heart entirely with love, with joy, now empty with his sorrow that seeped into his bones to make a home there.

Lucina stands outside his tent, listening with tears streaming down her cheeks, powerless to ease the suffering of her father. She knew all too well what it felt to lose someone you loved; she remembers her world, her future, where her mother felled her father, where her family died all too soon and she had a little brother to look after as she ascended the throne. 

She loved Ike as she loved her father, and felt the loss all the same as she had in her own realm. She knew countless timelines existed where different events unfolded, and she wondered if one existed where things panned out differently from this. Her throat jumps with the sounds she keeps closed there, her mind busy with the thoughts of another future, another realm existing, where all of this could have been prevented, just as she had prevented the ruinous future of her own world.

Some part of her wished she never travelled to this one.

She moves away the moment Chrom’s tent flap is thrown open and he stalks off into the woods; silent as death and one with the shadows, she makes her way to her own tent. As she moves, she sees Frederick follow after him, and she sighs, knowing he’ll be safe with him nearby.

She doesn’t enter; she hesitates, and she flinches at the sound of wood snapping under the sharp swing of a blade and a sound she wanted to believe impossible to be that of a man. And yet she knows it possible to belong to a man all the same, a man struck with grief, with loss, and she knew just as well that the sound will haunt her the rest of her life. 

Lucina knew better than to hold herself accountable for something she could not prevent. It didn’t stop her from laying awake that night thinking of all the ways she could have done something differently to alter the outcome of a future she didn’t expect to be part of. She sheds her tears not for the loss of a king, but for the loss of her father, a father she knew loved her and Chrom up until he drew his very last breath; she wonders, now, if it would have been better, kinder, to have lost them both instead?


End file.
